


Last Journey Home

by silverspidertm2



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Siblings, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspidertm2/pseuds/silverspidertm2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you loose your home, home is the only place left to go to. Set right after the Buu Saga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight Visits

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of my very first DBZ fic so please be kind. Takes place right after the Buu saga, but ignores the last few episodes of DBZ and certainly GT. You can see other works by my wonderful cover artist here http://eeriechan.deviantart.com/ Enjoy and please review!

Flying back to Capsule Corp. from the mountains where he and Goten had spent the day playing hide-n-seek and searching for treasure, Trunks was not sure which of his parents' wrath he was more afraid of: his father's for missing training or his mother's for staying out past his curfew. He knew both would be furious, so it was just a matter of deciding if he should go inside to take whatever punishment his mother had in store for him or to the gravity room where his father was most likely still training. The boy had just decided that the gravity room was probably the safer of the two options and landed on the roof of Capsule Corp. when he realized that there was no need to decide after all.

Both of his parents were outside, but they were not alone, and the gravity room was no longer the only strange contraption that adorned the back yard. Next to the unfamiliar object – and Trunks immediately recognized it as a product of Capsule Corp. even if he'd never seen anything like it before – stood a young man, maybe a little older than Gohan. From his angle on the roof, Trunks could not see much but a head of lavender hair, discolored by the natural light from the lamps in the backyard. He strained to hear what was being said.

“What has happened?” his father's brows were, as ever, drawn together. “Is there to be another attack?”

“No,” the young man shook his head. “At least nothing I'm aware of. I'm sorry to worry you and to intrude like this. I just... I needed to be anywhere but _there_ for a while.”

“You're always welcome here,” his mother hugged the youth, and to Trunks' amazement, not only did his father not object but even placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he said again. “I _will_ tell you why I'm here, but can it wait till morning? I'm... exhausted.”

“Of course, honey. Take any guest bedroom you want and go straight to bed. I'll bring you whatever you need. Is there anything in particular you want from your ship?”

“I didn't bring much,” the youth shook his head and touched the collar of his jeans jacket and the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, “just this. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision to come.”

“No problem. We'll get you some clean clothes first thing in the morning. Go and rest.”

“You're the best,” the newcomer squeezed her hand, nodded to Vegeta, and went inside.

Trunks blinked several times before realizing that his room was a safer place to wonder about anything. Maybe if he could sneak inside without his parents knowing, they might think he'd been back for hours. It would not save him from getting in trouble for slacking of on training, but maybe his mother wouldn't know he had stayed out so late. As quietly as he could, the boy began to climb down the roof.

“Trunks.”

If he thought he'd get away in one piece, Trunks realized he was sourly mistaken when his father's voice reached him a third of the way down from the rooftop. Bracing himself, he floated down to the ground and stood in front of his parents, head bowed. But when he dared to glance up to gage their wrath, he was met with stern but hardly angry looks.

“Isn't it past your bed time?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then go and sleep.”

“Yes, Father.”

He ran into the house only briefly wondering how he got away with his life and limb.

After tossing and turning for an hour, Trunks still could not fall asleep. It was like his brain was on overdrive. Too many questions floated through it, and they all circled around the newcomer and his parents odd treatment of the youth. It was not out of character for his mother to be warm and welcoming, but his father... the best any visitors ever received from Vegeta was silence.

Flinging his covers to the side, the boy slipped out of bed. Maybe a snack might help him sleep. Padding barefoot on the hardwood floor, Trunks made it halfway to the kitchen before a noise made him stop in the door frame of the family room. The balcony door was open – it was usually open with so many flight-capable friends and family members – and sounds from outside were easily heard.

Someone was on the roof. Trunks naturally assumed it was his father. It was hardly unusual for him to spend time alone up there at night, staring into the endless abyss of the sky. But the more he listened, the more Trunks realized that the footsteps were too heavy and irregular to be his father's. Something just wasn't right. He stepped onto the balcony as quietly as he could. When he chanced a glance up at the curved roof of their dome shaped house, he saw that he was half right; his father was indeed on the roof, but he was not alone.

“Mind if I join you?”

Their visitor took a seat next to Vegeta when the man grunted his permission. Trunks was dumbfounded. His father was a man who liked his space. He'd never seen anyone but his mother and occasionally himself in such close proximity to him, and here the stranger was. It confused Trunks and even made him a little jealous. His father and the young man sat side by side for so long, the boy nearly nodded off to sleep again. He rubbed his eyes furiously and continued to quietly watch the pair. It felt like forever, but finally the youth spoke.

“My mother is dead.”

The youth's voice was so quiet that Trunks nearly missed his words. The change in his father's posture would have been inconspicuous to anyone who had not known Vegeta for many years. He turned his head ever so slightly to have a better look at the young man, but his expression remained impassive. The lavender-haired youth continued, his head bowed.

“It was a few days ago from my perspective. One night she was fine, smiling and talking to me, and in the morning she was gone. I don't know exactly what happened. She was always very sad. I guess she felt guilty that she survived while everyone else... I know she fought hard for me, but once I destroyed the androids in our time, she must have decided I'd be alright without her and she finally let go of life. It makes me sad, but at the same time, I'm glad she's with her friends again, with my father.”

Now Trunks understood. How very sad and lonely it must be for the the young man to have lost his mother and father. He felt a little guilty for the burst of jealousy that passed through him earlier, but continued to stay and listen. It was quiet again for a long moment, but then his father spoke.

“What will you do now?”

“Honestly, I don't know. I spent the last few days helping people rebuilt. It kept me from dwelling too much on my own loss, but I realized they don't really need my help. I didn't know what else to do, so I came here.”

Another long silence. Even tired, Trunks wondered how they could stand it. He'd never met anyone else who could be so still and quiet for so long as his father. Maybe Piccolo, but he did not know him too well. For the second time, it was his father who broke the silence.

“I should not need to say this, but you know you are welcome to stay here. Permanently.”

“I don't want to intrude on your family. You already have a son.”

“Then I will have two. It's hardly a tragic concept. Besides, do you really think your mother will let you leave after she discovers the circumstances under which you are here?”

 _What's that mean?_ Trunks frowned. _Didn't he say his mom died?_ He did not understand what was going on, but it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that it was a conversation he should not be listening in on. Tired and distressed for reasons he could not quite explain, the boy quietly trotted back to bed.

He was finally drifting off to sleep when he heard the door to his room open with a swoosh. It was too late at night for his mother to be checking up on him

“Are you awake, Trunks?”

Vegeta's voice was quiet, so he did not know whether or not his father knew that he was really awake. He considered staying quiet and pretending to be asleep, just in case, but for all his mischievous nature, he had never directly lied to either of his parents.

“I'm awake,” he sat up in bed and met his father's onyx gaze across the room. Even in dark Saiyans – or demi-Saiyans, in Trunks' case – had damn good eyesight. “What's up?”

Vegeta said nothing, but crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed, giving Trunks an unreadable look. There were times when his father's presence was accompanied by an unnerving intense silence that did more than just make the boy squirm; they honestly frightened him.

“Dad, what's wrong?”

The last time his father acted like that was right before he'd sacrificed himself in a hopeless attempt to stop Majin Buu. He'd never admit it, but sometimes Trunks still had nightmares about that moment. As if reading his mind, Vegeta actually smiled and shook his head.

“Everything is alright. I simply wanted to see you. You disappeared for the entire day.”

“I'll work extra hard tomorrow,” Trunks blurted out. “As much as you want, and I won't complain. Promise.”

He fully recognized that it was a bad idea to remind Vegeta that he'd skipped training completely that day, but at that point, Trunks would have preferred getting yelled at. He'd been expecting it all night and thought that the world might right itself if the expected event occurred, albeit belatedly. The corner of his father's mouth twitched, but the Saiyan prince only shook his head.

“I doubt anyone will be training tomorrow. I have important matters to discuss with your mother. It isn't anything for you to concern yourself over, though. Go back to sleep.”

He placed a hand on Trunks' shoulder for a moment, then the boy felt the mattress springs release as his father rose and walked to the door. Trunks' mind raced. He couldn't let him disappear without one last attempt to get things back to normal.

“Ah, Dad?”

“What is it?” Vegeta stopped in the doorway and turned back to him.

“Since we're not training tomorrow anyway, I was wondering of... can Goten come over and play?”

Vegeta blinked, as if it was the last question he was expecting, then simply nodded. “If you like. Good night, son.”

Trunks stared after his father's retreating form before flopping back down onto the bed. It was official: the world was coming to an end. For real this time!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Trunks doesn't understand who their visitor – Mirai Trunks – is yet. I'm assuming he was never told in detail what happened in the androids and Cell sagas just because it was never even hinted that he knew. Everything's open to interpretation, but that's just my take on it. As for him not knowing just by the way the older Trunks looks... well, even if you see someone who looks a lot like yourself, it's not exactly the most obvious conclusion to jump to that it has to be a future you. Especially if you're a sleep-deprived nine-year-old. Don't worry, I won't keep him ignorant for long. Also I know Vegeta was way too... not-Vegeta-like but keep in mind that this is after the Buu saga at which point he grew a lot more emotionally, and under the circumstances I think it's excusable. Hope you liked it!


	2. And Morning Comes

 When sleep had come to her late in the night after Vegeta had returned to their bed, it was and uneasy one at best, and even as late in the morning as it was, Bulma felt like she had gotten to rest at all. Though Trunks – the elder Trunks – had assured them that there was no danger to their family or friends, she could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with her elder son. A mother's intuition, and she'd never felt anything less for him. Bulma yawned sleepily as she entered the kitchen and blinked with surprise at the seeming cup of coffee thrust out in front of her face. She followed it to the gloved hand that held it and up to the grim faced Saiyan prince.

“In all the years you've been in this house. I don't think you've ever made anything that required the least bit of effort.”

“If you do not want it, woman, say so, and I will drink it.”

“No,” she took the cup from him and slid onto a barstool. “It's just thoughtful and out of character.”

Vegeta merely grunted and took a seat across the table from her with his own drink. “Trunks looked as though he thought I'd gone insane because I did not insist we train today and allowed him to invite Kakarrot's second-born brat to visit.”

“Aww you scared the boy with kindness. Shame on you, Vegeta,” she teased then paused, the cup halfway to her mouth. “Wait, Goten and Trunks are here playing, and my house is still standing?”

“I made it clear to them in no uncertain terms that if they did not behave, they would not make it to adulthood. Apparently it was enough, and our son seemed reassured that I had not entirely lost my mind.”

Bulma chuckled and took a drink of her coffee before her face turned serious. “And our other son?”

“Is still sleeping, as far as I know. We spoke late last night.”

“And?” Vegeta was silent, and she scowled at him. “This doesn't work unless you talk to me.”

He was momentarily saved when a loud crash of something hitting the floor and shattering came from the floor above. Both looked up, then Vegeta gave his mate the most innocent look he could muster.

“Shouldn't you be checking on what the brats just destroyed?”

“What for? You already warned them, and there's nothing in this house I can't replace anyway. Don't change the subject, Vegeta. Tell me what's going on.”

* * * * * * * * * *

For weeks after his return from the past, Trunks had trouble sleeping. His brain was in warrior mode twenty-four seven, and the slightest noise woke him. The mixture of Saiyan blood and a harsh life made one a little paranoid. That was why when he drifted towards wakefulness, the lack of outside noises and feeling of the soft – more importantly clean – mattress beneath him were a little confusing at first. Added to that confusion were the two pairs of footsteps shuffling around outside his door.

“You sure he's sleeping?”

Trunks searched his memory but could not place the voice aside from the fact that it belonged to a young child. He kept his eyes closed as the door opened and the footsteps inched closer inside. Cautiously suppressing his own ki, he extended his senses to gage just what was going on on the threshold of his room. Two kis. Powerful, but hardly threatening. Trunks lay still and listen.

“Not if you keep yelling.”

“Sorry.”

At first he did not recognize the second voice either, but he'd seen a few home movies that the realization of who it was dawned on him fairly quickly. Trunks did his best not to smile. More shuffling. Then he heard one of them bump into the table at the door followed by the unmistakable sound of a vase coming to a shattering crash on the floor.

“Good going, doofus.”

“Sorry!”

To remove any suspicion from himself, the young man rolled over but continued to feign sleep. He could now feel them standing right next to his bed.

“Hey, Trunks, don't you think he looks kinda like you?”

“What? No way! I mean, just look at that hair. It's long enough to be a girl's,” he felt the hand of the boy who he was sure was his younger self tug on his loose ponytail. “See? Nothing like me. Don't be stupid.”

 _Alright, enough_.

“First,” Trunks pushed himself off the bed, swung both legs over the side, and stretched his back, “you should be nicer to your friend. Second, didn't your father ever tell you to 'let sleeping Saiyans lie'? And what's this obsession with pulling on my hair? I would have thought you'd grow out of that by now.”

The two boys instinctively stepped back, and it gave him a chance to get a better look at them. The one on the right he instantly recognized. Only a son of Vegeta could look so defiant when caught somewhere he was obviously not supposed to be. It was the second boy who gave Trunks pause. He stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you... Goku?”

It made no sense, but that was the first thought that came to his mind as he looked the younger of the two boys up and down from the top of his unruly black hair to the bottom of his orange training uniform. Upon hearing the name, the boy seemed to visibly relax though a little caution remained in his posture.

“You know my dad?”

 _Dad?_ His mind fully awake and focused, Trunks studied the boy closer.

“You're Goku's son? And... Gohan's little brother, right?”

“Yup! My name's Goten.”

It made sense. Goku had died in his own time and left behind no other children but Gohan, but that meant nothing for this time line. The child's ki was had power that could only have come from Saiyan blood, not to mention the striking resemblance he held to his progenitor. Apparently just asserting that he knew his father put Trunks in good standing with the boy who immediately smiled a wide goofy grin. Trunks' younger counterpart was not as easily swayed.

“I already know who he is. Who are you?”

“It's... it's a long story. Maybe you should ask your parents.”

“I'm asking you.”

Trunks briefly wondered why the tone sounded so familiar when he had never been this forward with any stranger, especially someone much older than himself, when it dawned on him that the boy before him did not remind him of himself at all. He reminded him of Vegeta. Despite himself, Trunks chuckled.

“Like I said before, I'm a Saiyan.”

“You are?” Goku's son's face lit up. “Cool!”

“No, he's not,” the older of the two boys objected. “My dad says there are no other Saiyans left except for him and your dad. Besides, Saiyans have black hair and eyes.”

“You don't,” Trunks gently reminded the younger version of himself.

“I'm half-Saiyan,” the boy retorted, glaring up at him as if challenging Trunks to say something about it. The young man felt a pang of guilt. It was not like he'd never been annoyed with his own not-particularly Saiyan features.

“Well, to be fair, so am I,” he offered, then thinking quickly of a way to prevent the boys from asking any more questions he was not ready to answer, glanced at the clock. “It's pretty late. Did you two have breakfast yet?”

“Yeah,” Goten nodded vigorously, “but I could eat again.”

“You can always eat again,” his friend made a face at him, but the lavender-haired boy was not exactly saying 'no' either.

Trunks winced.

“I know it's not my place, but I really wish you'd be nicer to your friend.”

Goten's eyes darted between the floor, window, and dresser, anywhere to avoid looking at the two people who were discussing him. He looked slightly embraced, while the younger Trunks remained indignant. Arms folded over his chest, the boy glared at him.

“You're right; it's not your place. What's it to you, anyway? You don't even know us.”

“No.” He truly did not know Goten, and every time the other boy spoke, Trunks had more and more trouble seeing himself in him. An idea suddenly struck him, and he rose, focusing his crystal blue orbs on the younger boy. “Does your brother still live around here? And your father?”

“Yeah.”

“Could please you go find them and ask them to come to Capsule Corp. for me? I'd like to say hi.”

“What about food?” the boy pouted as he saw the meal he'd been promised slipping away.

“I'll save you some,” he assured him. Goten's face brightened again before he frowned.

“I can get Gohan, but I think my dad's better off at home for now. He's been away for a while and, well, Mom's not too happy about it.”

“That's fine. I'll catch up with him later,” Trunks nodded. “Thank you.”

Goten nodded happily and jumped up on the table next to the open window. “Be back soon!”

He was gone in a flash, and Trunks turned to the other boy, who still stood perfectly still, brows drawn and arms crossed. Partially amused but slightly bothered by his younger selves' reaction, the youth from the future decided it was time to extend the olive branch. He bent down so that the two of them were at eye level, blue meeting blue.

“Look, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot,” the entire concept of arguing with his younger self was preposterous, but there he was. “Why don't we go downstairs, get something to eat, and then maybe your parents can explain things to you. Deal?”

The boy looked like he wanted to argue again, but then his stomach audibly rumbled. Victory! Trunks had yet to meet anyone of Saiyan origin who couldn't be pacified by food. They walked out into the hallway and towards the staircase that curved and molded to the perimeter of the house. He'd slept in everything but his boots and jacket, so there was no immediate need to change. Trunks kept pace with the child who seemed to gradually slow, whatever on his mind weighing him down.

“Wait,” the boy finally caught his wrist half way down the stairs, and Trunks stopped, regarding his younger self curiously. The boy was not looking at anything in particular, but he could nearly see the wheels in his head turning. “You said you're half-Saiyan. You know my parents, and Gohan and his dad, but you've never seen Goten till just now, right? And my parents are both really nice to you, even my dad, and Goten said you look sort of like me.”

Trunks nodded slowly, despite the knot that was beginning to tighten in his stomach. He should have been more careful. It was up to his parents what to tell their son. Their _real_ son. He supposed it was his mistake for underestimating the boy's perceptiveness. Another ridiculous concept. Maybe he just did not remember what it was like to be nine years old.

“So...” the boy mused, looking up at him with half-suspicion as they started walking again. “You're not... Are you my brother?”

Trunks was so stunned he didn't know what to say. He supposed of all the conclusions the boy might have reached, that one made the most sense from his perspective. Luckily he was saved from answering when the two arrived at the kitchen and he saw that both of his parents were at the table, their backs turned to them. Their arrival did not go unnoticed, however, as both Bulma and Vegeta turned as soon as their sons crossed the threshold. Trunks only took one look at his mother's distressed expression before he understood.

She knew.


	3. Blueberry Breakfast

 He thought he understood things. Better than anyone else his age, anyway. Trunks never felt the need to downplay his intelligence or be humble about it. His mother taught him to value more than just physical strength, but his father taught him pride, and he had always been fiercely proud of everything that was his own: family, friends, power, intellect. At the moment it was the lack of understanding that was driving the boy crazy.

His mother, brushing unshed tears from the corners of her eyes, crossed the kitchen in just a few long strides and wrapped her arms around the young man standing to his right. She held tightly him for several long moments then moved back, her hands still resting on his shoulders, to look him in the eyes. The youth looked slightly embraced, but otherwise not bothered by the display of emotion. Like it was something he was almost expecting.

“Your father told me everything,” Bulma said, cupping the young man's face in her hands. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” he bowed his head, lavender tresses obscuring his face from Trunks' view. “But I... I don't want you to worry. It doesn't say anything about... it doesn't mean anything for you.”

Instantly the look on her face slipped from concern and sympathy to anger and hurt. She withdrew her hands and gave the young man a sharp look Trunks was well familiar with. He felt a lecture coming on and would have felt sorry for their visitor if he was not so confused.

“I don't care where you're from,” his mother said, hands on hips. “You should know me better than that. I'm worried about you, nothing else. Understand?”

“Yes,” the youth murmured. “I'm sorry.”

And just like that, she was back to sweet and motherly. She patted his cheek. “It's alright, baby. I know you've been through a lot.”

“Give the boy room, woman,” his father's gruff voice sounded from the other side of the table. “Contrary to your belief, he does not need to be coddled constantly.”

Trunks had had enough. Fed up with going unnoticed, he levitated a good foot off the floor and floated between his mother and the stranger to whom he was starting to feel a stronger and stronger connection. Glancing questioningly between them, brows drawn in a perfect imitation of his father, the boy glowered.

“Yeah, this is all very touching, Mom,” his tone did not match his words, “but can someone tell me who this guy is?”

Bulma pulled her nine-year-old son from mid air and settled back on the barstool with him in her lap. He squirmed a little. Trunks' initial instinct was to push away – he was not a baby anymore, after all – but the disruption of his daily life just when it had returned to normal was enough to keep him still. The youth took a seat next to Vegeta, head still slightly bowed. His mother brushed the lavender strands from his forehead, a pointless but oddly comforting gesture.

“Mom, it's okay. You can tell me,” he promised. “Even if he's like my long-lost brother or something.”

From the corner of his eye, Trunks saw the youth make an attempt to pull back an ill-concealed smile. His father rose a brow, not bothering to hide his amusement at all. Vegeta's classic smirk usually meant trouble for whoever it was aimed at, and Trunks was fairly certain he was the target this time. His mother laughed a little as well.

“I suppose that's one way you can think of him,” she said. “He _is_ mine and your father's son and came to us before you were born. He left when you were still a baby, so it's no wonder you don't remember him.”

Trunks glanced at the young man. He thought he would feel better having his theory confirmed, but now that it seemingly had been, something still didn't sit quite right with him. “Isn't he a little too old?” he frowned. “Unless you and Dad knew each other way before and didn't tell anyone.” _That would be cool._

“No, we didn't. This might be kind of hard to understand.”

His mother was wrong. The story she told was not at all hard to follow. It was fantastic, full of adventure and exciting battles and sacrifice and all the good stuff he'd come to expect. Trunks read enough sci-fi and fantasy to know the plot well enough. He just never dreamed it could also apply to real life. He stared wide-eyed at the young man across the table who look back at him with eyes the shape of his father's, coloring his mother's, and a perfect match to his own.

 _It's_ true, a voice in his head whispered, though Trunks was unsure if it was his own. _You know it's true_.

“But...” he wracked his brain to found an excuse to deny the facts. “But your mother died. You said so!”

The youth, obviously wondering where he heard that, looked confused and somewhat sad. Vegeta, more familiar with Trunks' behavior, was quicker on the uptake. The boy clamped his hands over his mouth when his father fixed him with a venomous glare. Bulma, who must not have realized his method of obtaining the information was less than proper, was the one to reply.

“In his world,” she explained. “But your father and I are no less his parents than we are yours. That's why he's here, with his family where he belongs.”

She smiled at the youth, who returned it, though not without a little reservation.

“Only if everyone will have me,” it was more of a question, a request for permission, and Trunks had the distinct impression it was mainly directed to him. He was not ready to give up so easily and opened his mouth to say so, but his mother beat him to it.

“Don't be silly. I wish the reason why you came was less painful for you, but now that you're here, we wouldn't have you anywhere else. Right, kiddo? You've always wanted a brother or sister,” she kissed Trunks' temple without waiting for an answer and let him slide back to the floor as she rose as well. “Now, I know you,” she pointed to the elder Trunks, “haven't eaten anything yet, and Dende only knows what you had when you raided the fridge,” she looked down at the nine-year-old. “So how about some real breakfast? I'll make pancakes. Just tell me what kind you want.”

“Blueberry,” they said in unison, though to Trunks' dismay, his elder counterpart added 'please' at the end of his request.

His mother found it a lot more amusing than he did. Bulma laughed and began to remove bowls and ingredients from the cupboards. “I hope I have enough mix,” she said thoughtfully. “Feeding three Saiyans is like feeding a small army.” Bulma stopped and turned back, frowning. “Wasn't Goten here, too?”

His father rolled his eyes and glanced over at the young man. “I assume you've met Kakarrot's latest spawn?”

The elder Trunks smiled. “He seems like a nice boy.”

“Only when those two are _not_ physically attached,” the wooden stirring spoon in his mother's hand was pointed in his direction, but the corner of her mouth also rose.

“That's a rare miracle, when it does happen,” Vegeta added.

He knew it all was meant in good fun, even on his father's part, and usually Trunks would have added his own witty remark, but he was feeling more defensive than jubilant. His face twisted into a mixture of a grimace and a pout. An idea suddenly came to him, and instead of getting visibly angry, Trunks jumped up on the stool his mother vacated and turned a perfectly innocent look onto his parents before answering his mother's earlier question about the younger demi-Saiyan's whereabouts.

“You might want to double that order, Mom. Goten left to get Gohan.”

As predicted, Vegeta's ever-present scowl deepened. The boy could tell exactly what he was thinking without his father having to verbalize it. _Why was yet another one of 'Kakarrot's' brood invading their house this morning?_ Trunks pointed at his elder counterpart.

“He asked him too.”

Vegeta gritted his teeth and said nothing, returning his attention to his drink. The lavender-haired young men looked at _his_ parents apologetically. “I'm sorry for not asking first. I'll help you with those pancakes, Mom. I just wanted to see how he was. Gohan in my time...”

“Don't you dare apologize,” Bulma chastised, and Trunks inwardly pouted that the revilation did not evoke much disapproval from his parents. He was at least counting on his father for it, but Vegeta did not seem terribly interested one way or another. “Anyway, I think it'd do you good to see someone your age. He _is_ about your age now.”

“I know,” the youth from the future smiled. “It'll be great to see him again. To see everyone and catch up. Anything exciting happen in the last... wow, I still can't believe it's eight years for you.”

“Eight years,” Bulma agreed, beginning to mix the first batch of batter, “and relatively quiet ones, if you don't count Majin Buu.”

“Majin what?” a lavender brow rose over the youth's blue eyes.

“You've never fought Majin Buu?” Trunks smirked. “Too bad. You missed out on some awesome action. Bet there's nothing nearly is tough where you come from.”

He should have known that the youth would not take the bait. If he really was anything like him, he'd be too smart for it. “I don't know,” he admired, “but what matters is that everyone is still here, right?”

There was an unspoken 'so how tough could he have possibly been' that hung after the question, but he had not directly said it and ended up looking the better man for it. Trunks clenched his fists in his lap. What was wrong with this guy? Making him look bad in front of _his_ parents. There was no way he was going to let him get away with it, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.

“We put the Dragon Balls to good use a few times during that one,” his mother admitted, “but you don't need all the gory details right now. Maybe someone can fill you in later. I'm just glad you didn't pick that time to arrive in. Not that I can promise something else won't come up in the future.”

“We're Saiyans,” Vegeta inputed proudly, a conversation about fighting obviously more to his liking. “There are always battles to be fought and won.” He gave the young man a glance-over. “Have you been training?”

The elder Trunks nodded. “With every thing's that happened, I'm a little too paranoid not to.”

“Sensible,” Vegeta agreed, “but be prepared, not fearful. If you are strong and prepared for any challenge, you'll have nothing to fear. Have you learned anything new?”

“No one to learn from,” the youth sounded sad again. “I've been only able to get so far on my own.”

“Do you remember where the Gravity Room is?”

 _As if anyone could miss it_ , Trunks thought.

“Yes.”

“I expect you to be there first thing tomorrow morning. Consider this your first and last day of vacation, boy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 _Kiss-up!_ Trunks shouted in his mind.

“Of course,” Bulma put in dryly. “Who needs hugs and warm words when you can turn your sons to bleeding pieces of meat?”

When the first batch of pancakes was placed on the table in front of him, Trunks found he was not very hungry. His mother's words held more than a little truth, though not in the way she meant. Vegeta's training regimental was tough, no one could argue with that, but it was also the only one-on-one time he spent with his father. Now this person – still a virtual stranger – was intruding on every part of his life, even what precious little time he had with Vegeta. Trunks had known this guy for less than a few hours, but he was already missing being an only child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that young Trunks actually wanted siblings came from the DBZ movie with Tapion, so I assume this takes place after that. It might be an appropriate thing to work with anyway because everyone's been saying how much the sword Tapion gave him is like the sword M. Trunks has.


End file.
